


hook me in

by theafterimages



Series: frat au [1]
Category: EXO (Band), SHINee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 07:17:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3641499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theafterimages/pseuds/theafterimages
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of moments in Taemin and Jongin’s relationship over the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hook me in

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hushboys (taemin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taemin/gifts).



> Originally posted [here](http://eveninadream.livejournal.com/6957.html) in June 2014. Set between 2006-2015.

During this particular homeroom period, Sehun’s too absorbed in the copy of New Moon that Jongin had talked his sister into letting Sehun borrow to pay attention to anything else, so Jongin’s absently doodling in the margins of his math notebook when Sehun suddenly bursts into laughter he quickly muffles behind his hand.

Jongin ignores him at first, but when Sehun slumps forward and buries his head in his arms, shoulders still shaking, Jongin takes the book out of his hand. He can’t see anything funny about the part Sehun’s on; it’s just the scene where Bella’s finding out about imprinting.

“What’s so funny?” Jongin asks once Sehun finally calms down and sits up again, wiping his eyes.

“It’s like—you and Taemin-” Sehun wheezes at last, and Jongin turns scarlet, praying no one overheard that, and smacks Sehun’s arm until Sehun pushes him away.

It’s not _Jongin’s_ fault that Taemin had moved to town and showed up at their dance studio _and_ Jongin’s parish at the beginning of the semester, right when Jongin had started to realize that there was more to life than dance, and that maybe his sisters and classmates were losing their minds over crushes and dating for a reason. But, whatever. The only reason Sehun knows about Jongin’s feelings is that he’s known everything about Jongin since they were, like, two. There’s no way anyone else could ever guess. Especially not Taemin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Taemin guesses. 

_Everyone_ guesses. Jongin’s far from subtle with all the fixed, wide-eyed staring. It’s cute, so Taemin likes him even before they become friends.

And they do, _good_ friends, clicking with each other in a way that Taemin never has with anyone before. He doesn’t know what he’d do without Jongin. Given that Jongin’s pretty much in an exclusive relationship with dance and doesn’t seem ready to make a move on Taemin any time soon, letting Jongin’s crush continue unmentioned doesn’t seem like a big deal. Maybe he’ll do something about it someday, but not now. 

This lasts the summer after tenth grade, when Jongin gets dragged off to Korea to visit relatives for three months.

“What are you going to do when you go to college?” Moonkyu asks in amusement as Taemin complains about it yet again.

Taemin shrugs. “Wait until he gets there?”

“Who says he’ll go to the same school as you?”

Taemin… had honestly never thought about it. He’d just assumed. “Why wouldn’t he?”

Moonkyu shakes his head. “Maye he’ll want to go somewhere else. He’s not going to let his whole life revolve around you.” Whatever he sees on Taemin’s face makes him laugh. “Sorry, but you can’t keep him forever, Taemin.”

Given that Taemin’s instinctive reaction is a fiercely possessive _Who says?_ he’s starting to think that maybe he needs to rethink this whole just being friends with Jongin thing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jongin gets back the week before school starts. Jongin’s mother doesn’t look surprised to see Taemin on their doorstep an hour after they get home from the airport. Jetlagged, but not surprised.

“Jongin’s upstairs, unpacking,” she tells him, and with a quick thank you he skirts around her and rushes up the stairs. Mrs. Kim has never seemed quite as welcoming as most of his friends’ moms. Taemin sometimes wonders if his mother told her about him coming out to his family a few years ago. That’d be a complication when he and Jongin get together; but then, Taemin’s parents have gotten used to having a son that like boys. Jongin’s can, too.

To Taemin’s complete lack of surprise, Jongin’s bags are still unopened on the floor and Jongin's barefoot and face-down on the mattress, fast asleep. He got even tanner over the summer, Taemin notices, his gaze skimming over Jongin’s prone form. He wonders if it holds true everywhere and how soon he can find out.

Taemin sits down on the edge of the bed, poking Jongin until he grumbles but stirs awake. “Taemin?” Jongin asks groggily, eyes barely opening.

“Your favorite person,” Taemin confirms with a grin.

Jongin laughs a little, his sleepy smile hitting Taemin hard. He’d sort of forgotten how cute Jongin can be. Or how hot, he amends, as Jongin rolls over onto his back and stretches, his t-shirt riding up enough to reveal a strip of skin. “I missed you,” Jongin mumbles.

“So wake up and tell me everything.”

Jongin’s face scrunches up. “Fifteen minutes.”

Taemin snorts. He knows how Jongin’s naps always work even without factoring in jetlag. “You won’t get up then, either.”

“So? I’m tired.”

“Come _on_ ,” Taemin says, pushing his arm, and Jongin groans. “I’ll ask Taesun to take us for KFC tomorrow.” Taesun will probably do it. He owes Taemin a favor. This whole thing with Jongin is yet another reason for Taemin to count down the days he can trade in his learner’s permit for a driver’s license, though.

“That’s not fair,” Jongin complains, but he sits up anyway, promptly tipping his head onto Taemin’s shoulder. He’s sweaty and in serious need of a shower, but Taemin decides not to comment just yet. He’s feeling generous. 

“And,” Taemin adds, “after that maybe we can go see a movie.”

Jongin nods, eyes already closing again. “Yeah, I’ll call Moonkyu and-”

“No, just us. If you want.” Jongin’s going to want to, he knows that. He’s known that for years. But he adds it just…. just because.

“Just us? Why?”

“You know.”

Jongin shakes his head. “I don’t—what are you talking about?”

Taemin laughs a little. “You _know_ ,” he says again, and covers Jongin’s hand with his, linking their fingers together. He’s sure that jet lag or not, Jongin has to get this.

Jongin squeezes his hand experimentally, then sits up. His eyes are bleary but open, fixed on Taemin’s face. “Like… a date?”

“Yeah. If you want.”

“Don’t…” Jongin swallows, his hand tightening on Taemin’s. “You have to mean it.”

“I do,” Taemin protests.

“I’ve wanted this for _years_. You have to mean it.”

“I mean it. So say yes.”

Jongin shakes his head a little, but not in refusal. Probably just wondering if this is even happening. Maybe Taemin should have waited until Jongin wasn’t dead to the world, but he couldn’t. He’d already waited long enough. “Okay,” Jongin says at last.

“Good, now unpack your shit. And shower.” I missed you, too, he doesn’t add, as Jongin shoves him and gets up, shooting a dazzled look over his shoulder on his way to his suitcase. Jongin should know that, too. And besides, Taemin would rather prove it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Taemin pulls into Jongin’s driveway, honking his horn and rolling down his window. The front door opens a few seconds later, Jongin already laughing as he walks out. “You got it?” he yells as Taemin sticks his head out the driver’s side window to hear him better.

Taemin beams, waving his newly minted driver’s license. “Told you I would,” he says triumphantly. “First try.”

“Good job.” Jongin rests a hand on the car hood, leaning down and giving Taemin a quick kiss. “So we’re going for chicken, right?”

“Yeah, come on,” Taemin says. Once Jongin’s in the car, scrolling through Taemin’s iPod, Taemin adds, “We only have a couple hours, though. Dad needs the car back before 3.”

“That’s okay,” Jongin assures him. “Mom’s making me run errands with her later.”

Soon enough, Taemin reminds himself, this isn’t going to be a problem. By next summer he ought to have saved enough for a car of his own. Then he and Jongin won’t have to worry about working around anyone else’s schedule like this. “Mind if we drive around for a while before we eat?”

Jongin laughs. “You just want to show off.” 

“Something like that,” Taemin says, shooting him an easy grin.

(He only drives them around for like fifteen minutes before pulling over, Jongin already half in his lap before Taemin even undoes his seatbelt. They end up having lunch a lot later than planned.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Taemin’s first year at Cartwright is the first time since Jongin’s summer in Korea that they’re apart for any real length of time. Jongin spends the year getting less sleep than ever as they text and Skype and talk on the phone at all hours of the night. 

He rarely drives down to Cartwright, since he’s making minimum wage and gas to cover the eight-hour round trip drive is expensive, but this time’s an exception. 

He’s jittery the whole way, drumming his fingertips along to the beat of his music and continually checking the clock on his dashboard, but he gets there eventually. Taemin doesn’t know he’s coming, so he slings his backpack over his shoulder and is already dialing Taemin’s number as he gets out of the car. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Taemin says, voice warm and easy, and something in Jongin relaxes at the thought that for once a phone call means he’ll _see_ Taemin, not that he’ll have to keep waiting.

“Where are you?” Jongin asks.

“At the house, why?”

“I’m here,” he says, and can’t keep from smiling.

There’s a stunned silence. “Can you—holy shit. Meet me at the dorm in five minutes?”

Jongin gets there sooner than that, but is only waiting a few seconds when he feels familiar hands grab his waist from behind. He still jumps about a mile, heart pounding, but settles once he twists around and sees Taemin beaming at him. “What are you _doing_ here?” Taemin asks, kissing him before he can answer. “How long are you staying?”

“Overnight?” Jongin asks hopefully. “If it’s okay with your roommate. I have to be back by Sunday, but.”

“It’ll be fine, I’ll get rid of him,” Taemin says dismissively, and steals another kiss, then a third, before taking Jongin’s hand. “Come on up.” 

It takes a while to actually get around to the reason for Jongin’s visit, but he manages to get a few words in edgewise once he’s lying on his back in Taemin’s bed, Taemin kissing his way down Jongin’s neck, fingertips rubbing circles against Jongin’s sides under his shirt. “So should I request this dorm for the fall?” Jongin asks breathlessly. “I figured I should start planning, since I got my letter.” 

He yelps as Taemin’s teeth sink in too hard before Taemin jerks his head up. “Your acceptance letter?” 

Jongin nods, pain forgotten as he beams again. They’d both planned to attend Cartwright for years, and between Jongin’s GPA, test scores and dance he’d always expected to get in, but it’s one thing to be mostly sure and another to be completely sure. “Yesterday. I wanted to surprise you. It’s in my bag, if you want to-”

“Later,” Taemin says, dazed. “Jesus, we’re—why are you wearing _clothes_ right now?” Jongin bursts into giddy laughter and lets Taemin drag his shirt off, kissing him again as soon as the material is out of the way, fingers fumbling at the fastenings of Taemin’s jeans.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Boy Scouts came in handy, after all,” Taemin wisecracks, double-checking the knots.

“Just don’t set any fires,” Jongin tells him, whimpering when Taemin takes advantage of his immobility to nip just beneath his ear, where they’ve long since discovered Jongin’s especially sensitive. Well, one of many places, Taemin thinks, pleased. Places no one else knows about but him. Even if Jongin does agree that they can try hooking up with a third person once they’re at Cartwright next month, Taemin will be able to watch and have the satisfaction of knowing that he’s the one that found him and that he’s always, always going to be the one who knows Jongin best.

“We’ll work our way up to the waxplay,” Taemin assures him. Jongin laughs, the sound trembling a little, and Taemin cups his hand against his neck, thumb sweeping against Jongin’s already racing pulse. “You all right?”

“Yeah. Just—you’re _sure_ your parents won’t be back until tonight, right? This could…”

Taemin grimaces at the thought. “I’m sure. I wouldn’t want them walking in, either. Trust me.”

“I do,” Jongin tells him, expression open and eyes warm, and Taemin slides his hands along Jongin’s arms to wrap around Jongin’s bound wrists and kisses him, long and slow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Baekhyun had left a while ago but Jongin, contrary to Taemin’s expectations, hasn’t fallen asleep yet. Instead he’s been kissing Taemin—not with any particular intent, just kissing, hands fisted in Taemin’s hair and mapping Taemin’s mouth with slow slides of his tongue, like he’s relearning Taemin all over again.

“Jongin?” Taemin asks when he finally convinces himself to pull away.

“Hmm?” Jongin asks hazily, heavy-lidded gaze focusing on Taemin’s lips.

Taemin wants to keep going. He _really_ wants to keep going. But he has to check on a few things first. “You did like hooking up with Baekhyun, right?”

Sure enough, Jongin’s eyes dart away. “I…”

“Just because I wanted to doesn’t mean-” Taemin begins, frowning. 

“I liked it,” Jongin interrupts impatiently. “I would’ve told you if I didn’t. I just think—if we’re going to do that again, with Baekhyun or anyone, we need to set one rule.”

“What’s that?” Taemin asks; or tries to, anyway, but Jongin kisses him again, rocking down against him, and it takes a few minutes before Taemin has the presence of mind to roll Jongin onto his back and break away long enough to ask, “Jongin? The rule?”

“Oh.” Jongin sighs, clutching at Taemin’s hair as Taemin kisses his way down Jongin’s neck. Baekhyun left marks, he notices. No surprise there. Baekhyun always has to show off where he’s been. “I just want— _ah_ —I just-”

“Use your words, Jongin,” Taemin teases, grinning up at him.

Jongin licks his lips, kiss-swollen and even redder than usual, and it takes a level of self-control Taemin didn’t even know he possessed to keep still. “I want you to be the only one who fucks me.”

Taemin’s hit with the sudden, sharp memory of Baekhyun holding up the condom in suggestion, only for Jongin to shake his head and motion to Taemin. At the time he hadn’t thought much of it other than to spare a few wistful seconds for the thought of Jongin falling apart under someone else, which he’s still sure would be just as amazing to see from a distance as it is to experience up close and personal. But Jesus, the thought of Jongin saying no to _everyone_ for _him_ —

“I liked everything,” Jongin rushes on when it becomes clear that Taemin can’t say a word, can’t do anything but grip Jongin’s hips tightly and stare. “I’m fine with anything else, anything I want to do or you want to see, but—but you’re the only one I’ll ever want to…” He ducks his head, cheeks flushing, like even after everything they’ve done tonight he can’t bring himself to say the words again.

Taemin noses into his space, smiling when Jongin finally meets his eyes. “Ever?” he echoes, softer than he’d expected.

Jongin touches his forehead to Taemin’s and smiles back. “Ever,” he promises.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Taemin forgets what the fight is about almost as soon as Jongin storms out (“Which might be part of the problem,” Kibum points out, but Taemin ignores him). But Jongin must remember, given that he spends the next two days sulking instead of talking to him—which, he’ll get over it, whatever it is. Having the bed to himself for once is nice, anyway, Taemin decides.

It’s day three when _Minho_ breaks. The distinctive knock on Taemin’s door can’t be anyone else, although Taemin’s certainly not expecting it when he opens the door and Minho carries Jongin inside, slumped forward over Minho’s arms and pouting.

Taemin recovers fast, widening his eyes dramatically at his big brother. “But Minho, I wanted a _pony_.”

“Fix it,” Minho orders him, setting Jongin down in front of him and promptly exiting the room, closing the door behind him.

Taemin and Jongin blink at each other. “That was… something,” Taemin says.

“He just grabbed me and dragged me up here,” Jongin grumbles, rubbing his eyes. “I was trying to nap.”

“Of course you were.”

“Shut up.” Given that the words are said around a yawn, they don’t really sting.

Taemin can’t help himself—he reaches out and strokes the back of Jongin’s neck, satisfied by the quiet, pleased sound Jongin makes in response. “Sleep here?” Taemin offers.

Jongin sighs, leaning into him. “Yeah, okay.”

They can talk tomorrow; knowing Jongin and his insistence about bluntly laying everything out, it’s not so much can as will. For now it’s nice to let Jongin lead him to his own bed and arrange them both to his liking; to be enveloped in Jongin’s arms and lulled to the best sleep he’s had in days by Jongin’s quiet, even breathing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The entire house sees Taemin’s campaign for the presidency as a joke. Given that Chanyeol’s been angling for the role since he first stepped foot in Kappa Tau and Jiho certainly isn’t going to back down, only Taemin himself seems to think he has a chance.

The ballot readings start out as everyone’s expecting. One for Chanyeol, two for Jiho. 

“Taemin,” Minho reads aloud next, raising his eyebrows at Jongin. There’s a chorus of laughs as Jongin sinks in his chair, Taemin smirking at him even as he squeezes Jongin’s hand.

Minho announces a few more ballots; then, more slowly this time, “Taemin.” Not for the last time, either. All three piles grow, and by the end everyone realizes the truth even before Minho says it aloud: Chanyeol and Jiho split the vote, and Taemin is the next president of Kappa Tau.

Jongin sits stock still, staring off into space and wondering how God could have let this happen, as Taemin rises to his feet and basks in the cheers, both real and faked. “I’d like to thank God, and my parents, and Minho for setting such a good example-” Minho still looks stunned but even he laughs at that, shaking his head, “-and Jongin, for being the best first lady I could ask for.”

“Can’t you at least say—I don’t know, first gentleman?” Jongin hisses.

“No, I mean it literally,” Taemin tells him. “Cross dressing mixer. Where’s Wonshik?” Wonshik raises his hand, and Taemin points at him. “Figure it out over the summer. Make it happen. I have other plans to work on.”

“We’re all doomed,” Hongbin says, his head in his hands.

Taemin’s smile somehow gets even wider, and he spreads out his arms. “If anyone wants to pay tribute, I’ll be upstairs, celebrating with Jongin in the presidential suite.”

“You’re not the president _yet_ ,” Minho reminds him, and Taemin just laughs as he tows Jongin away.

“Next year’s going to be great,” he says giddily as they head upstairs. “ _President Taemin_.”

“Yeah,” Jongin says, voice hollow, taking one last look around the hallway. He’s really going to miss the house when it inevitably burns down. “Great.”

(Though he has to admit, there’s something to be said for the victory sex.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Taemin genuinely isn’t expecting anything when he gets back from the first day of his internship. Maybe some takeout on the table and Jongin dozing on the couch, but that’s about it.

He’s definitely not expecting to see Jongin waiting for him in the chair facing the door; wearing a suit and tie, no less. Hair slicked back and eyes sharp, he’s a million miles from the soft, sweet boyfriend Taemin had been expecting to come home to.

Taemin’s pulse is already racing even before Jongin says, “You’re late,” his words quiet but firm.

“Jongin-”

“That’s Mr. President to you.” His gaze rakes over Taemin, taking in his partly unbuttoned dress shirt and undone tie. “And you’re not even in the right clothes.”

Taemin almost asks what he should be wearing, but then he catches sight of a pile of clothes and a very familiar long blond wig and realizes just what game they’re playing. “Damn it,” he mumbles. He should have known that the number of times he had had Jongin in the intern role during his presidency would come back to haunt him.

“Language, intern,” Jongin says; his lips twitch but otherwise he doesn’t break character at all. “Get dressed, and then I’ll tell you how you can make up for your infractions.”

Taemin takes another look at the pile, black thigh highs and silky red material, black heels next to them. Well, he _has_ always wondered if he’d look as good in this dress as Jongin does. “Yes, Mr. President.” 

Taemin picks everything up and turns to leave. “No,” Jongin says, voice snapping out like a whip, and Taemin stops in his tracks. “Change here.”

Taemin is so used to Jongin going along with his every whim that sometimes he forgets about how well he can slip into this role; how everything from the tilt of his head to the long legs crossed in front of him radiates the absolute conviction that Taemin not only will but should obey his every word. Under the weight of that dark, impersonal gaze, Taemin _needs_ to prove himself.

“ _Slowly_ ,” Jongin adds before Taemin can move. Taemin swallows, throat gone dry, and his hands drop to unfasten his belt buckle.

Afterwards Jongin is himself again, clinging and soft and boundlessly affectionate. It’s something Taemin had thought he’d grow out of, once, but now hopes he never will. 

“I’d forgotten how good you are at that,” Taemin tells him, voice long since gone rough. He hadn’t even known he’d needed it, but of course Jongin had. He always does.

Jongin hums, kissing his temple. “Maybe we should do it more often.”

“But you’re so good as the intern.”

Jongin makes a face. “What about as myself?”

Taemin grins and nips at his throat, then laughs but kisses it when Jongin protests the sting. “I guess you’ll do.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jongin and Taemin pretty much spend the entirety of every wedding reception they attend on the dance floor, and Jinki’s is no exception. 

During the last slow dance of the night, Jongin slumps enough to rest his head on Taemin’s shoulder, eyes sliding shut. “You’re not sleeping, are you?” Taemin teases, running one hand quickly through Jongin’s disheveled hair, gel remaining but having long since given up the fight.

Jongin shakes his head. “Thinking.”

“What about?”

“Us.”

Taemin hums. “Plans for later?”

“A lot later.” Taemin pokes at his side, curious, until Jongin heaves a put-upon sigh and straightens up. “Taemin, I love you.”

“That’s a good start,” Taemin says, ever the encouraging boyfriend.

Jongin’s lips curl upwards briefly, though he quickly gets serious again. “I want this someday, for us. Wedding, reception, Sehun as my best man, a two week honeymoon on some island, all of it. I want—I’ll be with you forever either way, I know that, but I want to promise it in front of everyone that matters, I want to celebrate it, I want-”

Taemin cuts him off with a kiss. “I know,” he murmurs, smiling. “Don’t worry. I booked the church years ago.”

Jongin blinks. “Really?”

“I planned to. It counts.” Taemin cocks his head. “I hope that’s not your proposal. I’ve read your essays. I’m expecting you to go all out. Three page speech, minimum. Choreograph an interpretive dance.” Jongin bursts out laughing at that, hitting Taemin’s shoulder until Taemin catches his wrist. “And you can’t act like this at our wedding, you know. You’ll have to be dignified.”

“You’re terrible.”

“Good thing love’s unconditional,” Taemin says cheerfully, and when Jongin starts laughing again Taemin grins back and leans in, warm and happy and exactly where he wants to stay.


End file.
